Enemies List 2: The Cards They're Dealt
by Qweb
Summary: What happens to the Avengers and friends when SHIELD is gone? One shots that take place after CA:TWS and Enemies List. Ch3-Steve & Sam Ch4-The Pilots Ch5-"I Can't Be an Avenger" Ch6-about chemistry and memory Ch7-A Winter Soldier "Timeline"
1. Picking Up the Pieces

_A/N: These stories take place after "Captain America: The Winter Soldier" and my story, "Enemies List." The first two will be in chronological order, but they may be random after that._

* * *

**Picking Up the Pieces**

The two boys had taken three buses from their D.C. neighborhood to reach the thin, weedy woods along the Potomac where the third helicarrier had crashed days before.

The skinny black youngsters were intent on claiming a souvenir. Their cousin in New York proudly displayed a piece of debris from the Battle of Manhattan. Sure, it was just a piece of a Coke machine, but no one could deny there was a charred, melted hole in the twisted piece of red metal.

Now that a superhero battle had taken place near their home, Deion and Andru were wild to collect a memento of their own to counter their cousin's bragging.

The woods were not the city boys' native habitat, but they ventured in fearlessly, putting their sneaker-clad feet down carefully and chattering constantly, but quietly. They were sure grownups would deny them their exploration, saying it was too dangerous. But the eight- and ten-year-old brothers scoffed at danger.

"All the good stuff will be down by the river," older brother Deion said wisely.

Andru nodded. They'd been over this a hundred times. "Because the ship crashed in the river," he agreed. "But grownups will be there, too."

Deion nodded. "So we need to stay inside the trees until we spot something to grab."

"No guns," Andru warned. It was their mother's firm rule and she watched like a hawk.

Deion nodded reluctantly. A gun would be exciting, but maybe too dangerous for his little brother, he rationalized. "Nothing that looks like a weapon," he agreed. "And nothing too big for us to carry."

"Maybe we'll find a dead body," Andru said, with a thrill of fearful excitement. They'd caught a glimpse of one once, when the police were taking away a homeless man who had died in an alley.

The idea fired his brother's imagination. "Yeah, a dead body hanging in a tree!" And then, at the same moment, the boys saw an odd-shaped shadow at their feet. It definitely didn't belong to a tree branch. They looked at each other, and then, in unison, they looked up.

* * *

As usual, Maria Hill was picking up the pieces. This time the phrase was more literal than usual.

Standing on the bank of the Potomac, the dark-haired woman watched in sardonic amusement as the two government officials with their FBI shadows argued with her salvage crew. First they went to the guy on the skip loader, then to one of the security guards. Both men pointed at Hill, but the group tried the foreman instead. He pointed firmly at Hill and told them to stop bothering his crew.

As they admitted defeat and approached the woman, Hill's earbud crackled.

"What part of 'she's in charge' don't they understand?" the foreman said in aggravation, before he turned his attention back to the crane lifting a hunk of helicarrier engine out of the river and swinging it toward a flatbed tractor-trailer.

Hill took a military stance, tucking her arms behind her back in parade rest, though a clipboard dangled from two fingers behind her, which wasn't very military at all.

"Gentlemen," she greeted the group, a sardonic twist to her voice.

"Listen, missy," the eldest of the men began.

Missy — really?

He flashed National Transportation Safety Board identification at her. "You can't just come in here and take this debris."

"I can," Hill corrected. "I am."

"Hill, isn't it?" sneered one of the FBI men — Logan, she thought his name was. She'd met him once or twice in her previous life.

"You don't have SHIELD authority any more," Logan snarled. "You have no authorization to be here."

"Here's my authorization," Hill said briskly. She brought the clipboard forward and plucked off a paper, which she handed to the eldest man.

His sputtering dried up when he read the document.

"That's a court order," Hill explained for the benefit of the others. "U.S. District Court Judge Rivera has authorized Stark Industries to reclaim its equipment from the crash site."

"Reclaim?" the second NTSB man asked. He was a modest looking man with sharp eyes — reminded Hill of Phil Coulson.

"Mr. Stark prefers to not make weapons these days," Hill explained politely to the man who had asked politely. "He only leased the energy source for the helicarrier engines to SHIELD. The contract stipulates that the reactors can be repossessed if used for nefarious purposes."

"Nefarious!" Logan scoffed.

Hill shoved another document under Logan's bulgy nose. "Paragraph 12, section 2. It specifically indicates 'nefarious purposes.'"

"Who writes a contract that uses the word 'nefarious'?" Logan exclaimed.

"Tony Stark," Hill answered, her unsaid "duh" hanging heavily in the muggy air. She continued, "The judge agreed with the Stark lawyers that targeting thousands of people for death qualified as 'nefarious.' So SI is reclaiming the engines. Of course, we will do what we can to repair the riparian ecosystem as we work. Fortunately it's a clean energy source, so no pollution there."

"But we haven't finished with our investigation," the second NTSB man said mildly.

"What's there to investigate? The ships blasted each other out of the sky on national and local television and websites around the world."

"Crashes have to be documented," the man replied.

Hill softened her stance for the one man who was acting reasonably. "We are willing to let your people work alongside ours. I assure you that my people will be better able to recognize anything unusual or suspicious in the wreckage."

"Just who do you think you are to dictate…" the older man started.

The younger man was wiser and dragged his superior away, loudly thanking Maria for her cooperation to drown out the other man's rant. The disgruntled FBI men followed.

Maria watched them go with a smirk.

* * *

"I like a take charge woman," said a young voice from behind her.

Hill turned to see two black youngsters standing just within the tree line. The eldest of the two stood with what he fondly thought was a sexy, streetwise pose.

Maria wasn't attracted by 10-year-olds, but she had a certain fondness for a smart-mouth — just as well, considering her new boss.

"What are you boys doing here?" she asked mildly. "This area is dangerous. The pollution alone could kill you."

"You just said there wasn't any pollution," the youngest boy pointed out.

"I said the power source wouldn't pollute the river, but there are other things — metals, lubricants, burned plastics, corpses — those are all potentially toxic," she said reasonably.

She noticed the two boys exchange a glance when she mentioned corpses. Her brow creased in a frown. "Why are you here?"

The younger boy scuffed his foot nervously, but the older raised his chin in a challenge. "We found something important. We'll show you for $100."

"A hundred dollars?" Hill said skeptically.

"We wanted a superhero souvenir," the younger boy blurted. "But we ... it's too big."

"We'll sell it to you for $100," Deion said firmly.

Hill was intrigued, but said firmly. "Take me to it and I'll tell you whether it's worth $100."

Deion looked as if he'd like to argue, but Andru confidently said, "It's worth it." He looked at his brother. "You know it is."

"Lead the way, gentlemen." Hill gestured toward the woods.

The oddly assorted trio introduced themselves on their short jaunt into the woods. The boys told the skilled interrogator all about their boastful cousin in New York and how they wanted to one-up him.

They stopped in mid-story. "What?" Hill asked. The boys pointed up.

Hill looked up. Dimmed by dirt and scratches, a star shined down on her. She smiled. She pushed a button on her comm, changing the channel. "Can you loan me a hundred?"

"Is that all they want for it? I wondered what they were up to. I'll be right down."

The shrill whine of repulsors filled the air. The boys looked up and their jaws dropped open. Iron Man descended. He hovered for a moment, untangling the treasure from the branches, then landed in front of the boys.

The boys were still gaping when Tony opened his helmet.

"Catching flies?" he asked. "This is a good place for it," he admitted. He batted away one of the many bugs that swarmed along the riverbank.

The boys snapped their mouths shut, then the youngest opened his again. "You're Iron Man!" he said in reverence.

Tony preened. "Miss Hill, would you introduce me to your friends?"

Hill made formal introductions.

"Appreciate you finding this," Tony told the boys. " Cap would look unfinished without it." The scorched, scratched and filthy shield rang like a bell when Iron Man's metal finger tapped it. "What are you kids doing down here?"

Deion explained about their cousin and their hunt for a souvenir,

"I'm surprised you didn't keep this, then. It would be the ultimate souvenir."

"We couldn't steal from Cap," Deion said piously. "He's a good guy. We saw him at school once, talking about bullying."

"And we didn't think we could smuggle it onto the bus," Andru said with devastating honesty.

Tony snorted.

Deion glared at his brother, then sighed. "And even if we got it home, we'd never hide it from our Mom. She'd whup us good for taking what didn't belong to us."

"A wise woman," Hill said with approval.

"With two smart sons," Tony agreed. "Hill, take a picture of me with the boys. They deserve a souvenir."

Hill used the boys' phone to take several pictures — Tony shaking hands as he accepted the shield, Tony and the boys posing with the shield, Tony smiling with his arms over the kids' shoulders.

Tony Stark had a soft spot for kids, who knew? Maria thought with amusement.

Tony walked with the kids to the street and sent them home in his limousine, each clutching a hundred dollar bill.

* * *

"I never knew you were such a softy," Hill said.

"A smart kid saved my life last year," Tony reminded her. "I like smart kids. I'll keep an eye on these two."

"I'm surprised you didn't find the shield first," Hill commented.

"Who says? I spotted it just before they did. I was curious to see what they'd do."

Hill looked at him skeptically, as if he was just trying to save face.

Tony made a scornful noise. "Please, it's the only significant concentration of vibranium outside Wakanda. Of course I could find it."

Hill frowned. "I never thought about it being so distinctive. Doesn't that compromise Cap in any stealth situation?"

"I said I could find it." Tony said. "By its nature, vibranium reflects, no, redirects force. It absorbs and transmutes energy. You have to know what to look for to find vibranium."

"And you know what to look for."

"My Dad made this baby," Tony said, rocking the shield in his arms like an infant. "It's practically a member of the family. Come on, kiddo. Uncle Tony will take you home until Daddy Steve gets out of the hospital," he told the shield.

He launched into the air, leaving Maria Hill behind him, shaking her head in amusement. Then she went back to picking up the pieces. — as usual.

* * *

_A/N: Next, Clint and Nat reunite in "Suburbia."_


	2. Suburbia

_Regarding the message that Clint sent Natasha via Tony in the last chapter of Enemies List: If you have the right map and you run a line from Thunder Bay, Ontario, to Pacoima, California, then run a line from Skagway, Alaska, to New Orleans, Louisiana, you would find they cross in the vicinity of Rapid City, South Dakota. Of course, you would have to know that the last place Clint saw Nat was New Orleans and that they have a safe house in S.D., so Clint was pretty sure that only Natasha could decipher his message._

* * *

**Suburbia**

Natasha Romanoff would never have run squealing into the arms of a man, but her current alias had no hesitation. And, to be honest, Natasha didn't mind having an excuse to hug the man she'd feared she'd lost forever.

Clint Barton — or rather his alter ego — was watering the bushes in the front yard of the modest tract home in a suburb outside Rapid City, South Dakota, when the airport taxi pulled up to the curb.

White-blonde hair flying behind her, Natasha launched herself from the backseat and threw herself at her partner. He let the hose drop, the nozzle automatically shutting off, and caught her as she literally leaped into his arms. "Frank!"

Clint swung her around in delight, her pink sundress flapping. "Baby, I missed you!" he exclaimed and kissed her thoroughly.

She ran her hands up and down the well-muscled arms revealed by his navy blue tank top. She pulled back from the kiss to admire his rugged face, dark pencil mustache and slicked back dark hair.

Clint combed his fingers through Natasha's thick blonde hair and pulled her close. She leaned against him, tucking her head under his chin. She felt safe for the first time since she'd seen Fury die. He felt complete for the first time since his world turned upside down and dumped him in the toilet.

Not trying to hide a smile, the taxi driver wheeled Natasha's suitcase up the front walk.

Clint fished bills out of the back pocket of his jeans and handed over a generous but not remarkable tip.

"Have a nice day," the driver said with a small salute.

"Count on it," Clint answered with a wink.

The driver left chuckling, passing an older man walking an elderly spaniel along the sidewalk. The dog-walker saw the kissing couple and called a greeting.

"My two favorite Hollywood celebrities," he teased. "You look like you haven't seen each other in months. I thought you were working on the same movie?"

Clint kept his arm around Natasha, pulling her tight to him. He felt her flinch when he touched her shoulder, so he slid his hand down to her waist.

"We were working on the same movie, Jeff, but they had us checking out different locations," Clint answered easily. He and Nat hadn't had time to discuss details of their location scout cover, but they worked together seamlessly, contributing bits of their cover stories.

"We weren't even on the same continent," Nat said with a pretty pout. "Frank was off in the Rockies, out in the wilderness somewhere without cellphone service."

"She worries when she can't reach me," Clint confided. "Turns out she's the one who got hurt," he added, in case Jeff had noticed Natasha's wince.

She made a face. "I fell and gashed my shoulder on a concrete wall in the middle of downtown Budapest," she said in disgust.

"What movie were you working on?" Jeff asked.

"Working title was 'Freezer Burn,'" Clint said. "But after all that, it looks like the movie won't be made at all. The production company lost its funding," he explained. "At least we got paid, so we decided to take some time off. Maybe work on having that baby we've talked about." He smirked.

Natasha dropped her eyes as if embarrassed by the topic.

Jeff saw it and politely changed the subject. "Does that mean you'll be here for deer season?" he asked hopefully.

Clint brightened. "Maybe. Does the club still meet on Saturdays?"

"The Bennington Bowhunters. First and third Saturday," he confirmed.

"Awesome," Clint said with genuine excitement. "I'm looking forward to it."

"Well, I'd better get home and tell Megan her favorite kids are back. She'll want to start baking right away."

"Ooh, raspberry cupcakes?" Natasha asked eagerly.

"With sweet cream frosting," Jeff confirmed, eyes twinkling.

"Mmm, I dream about those cupcakes sometimes," Natasha said, not lying at all.

"I had an apple tart in Paris last year and I thought, this isn't half as good as Megan's apple pie," Clint said, also honestly.

"That kind of flattery is why my wife likes you, Frank," Jeff said. "Now, how are you fixed for food tonight? I'm sure we have a casserole to spare in the freezer."

Clint was seriously tempted, because Megan was a county fair award winning cook, but he and Nat needed to talk without interruption.

"Not tonight, Jeff," Clint said, twining one finger through Nat's hair.

"Not before noon tomorrow," Natasha said with a wink.

"I made a grocery run, we won't starve," Clint promised.

"All right, you wild kids. We'll see you late tomorrow," Jeff said. He tugged the dog away from his investigation of the parkway tree.

"Bye Jeff. Bye Freckles," Natasha called.

Jeff waved and the dog wagged his stubby tail, as they walked briskly toward home.

Clint shut off the hose then grabbed Natasha's suitcase and escorted her inside. "When did you get here?" she asked.

"Late last night. Just in time to crash. I only got up a couple hours ago," Clint answered.

Nat saw Clint's luggage stood open in the hallway with clothes trailing out as if it had been searched — though only by Clint looking for his toothbrush.

"I can see the place can use a woman's touch," Natasha said judiciously.

So, under the guise of putting things away and preparing a meal, the former SHIELD agents searched the house for surveillance devices, booby-traps or anything out of the ordinary. They also looked for the little tells they had left behind to determine whether the cleaning company or anyone else had been snooping. But their floor safe was untouched with its stash of cash. The overt gun and bow safe was still firmly locked, while the two secret weapon caches hidden in the walls were covered with dust and cobwebs, as they should be.

The agents didn't really expect any trouble. This place was entirely off the books. Only one other person had known about this cover identity and he had been killed before the Battle of Manhattan.

"The place looks good," Natasha said.

Clint nodded. No sign of tampering. "Yeah, the cleaners did an excellent job."

They made a quick salad and pulled a packaged lasagna out of the oven, then settled in front of the TV for dinner. Cuddling close together, watching a romantic action comedy with plenty of roaring engines and gunshots to conceal their conversation from any directional microphone.

Then, finally, Hawkeye and Black Widow were able to talk.

In the cooing voices of lovebirds, they talked about betrayal, job loss, attempted murder and attempted mass murder. With a bubbling laugh that concealed how her voice shook, Natasha told Clint how Cap had protected her from a missile strike and about the nearly fatal injuries he had received at the hands of his brainwashed best friend.

Clint stroked her hair and kissed her forehead.

In consolation, he made a genuinely funny story about being thrown out of a helicopter and hanging upside down on a makeshift trapeze.

Natasha put her head on Clint's shoulder and spoke right into his ear.

"The worst, Clint, was that Nick didn't trust me," Natasha said quietly. "He trusted Rogers with the thumb drive and Hill with his safety, but he let me watch him die."

Clint ran his hand up and down her arm. He knew she saw Nick Fury as a father figure. He was an authority figure who had trusted her and defended her, something unheard-of in her abusive childhood. Fury was as close to Natasha as he allowed himself to get to an agent.

"Fury trusts you," he said firmly. "Maybe it was someone else he didn't trust," he offered. "Who else was in the room."

Natasha thought back to the observation room. She had been focused on Fury and his doctors, but her retentive mind had taken an automatic snapshot of the room's occupants. She relaxed at the recollection. "Hill and Rogers were with me, but Rumlow and Sitwell were behind us."

"By what you said, Fury must have already been suspicious of Sitwell at the least," Clint said.

Natasha accepted that and smiled more genuinely.

"Sitwell," Clint snarled. "Sitwell told me he was keeping me where he could find me because something big was going down."

Natasha's lip curled at the way Sitwell used the truth to mislead her perceptive partner.

"And Donnelly said he had a message from Sitwell just before he pushed me out of the helo. I didn't get to put an arrow through Loki's eye, maybe I could do Sitwell," he said vindictively.

Nat pursed her lips. "Difficult," she said. "There wasn't much left of his face after the Winter Soldier threw him in front of a semi."

She felt a slight stiffening in Clint's shoulder.

"I checked," she assured him. "I went back after and found the body in the morgue. There was enough to identify, but I still took a blood sample for DNA testing."

"And it was him."

"It was. So I claimed the body as his dear sister and had him cremated. And I watched him burn," she growled.

"Thanks. Too much resurrection going on these days," Clint said.

"I know." She shivered, thinking about the horrors that had been done to resurrect Bucky Barnes as the Winter Soldier.

She snuggled closer to her "husband." "I'm glad you chose this cover for us," she said.

Clint nodded, rubbing his cheek against her hair. This was one of the most substantial covers they had. Heck, their alternate identities had actual film credits. With the agents' background of global travel, they had been able to advise two different directors about potential film locations.

They had other safe houses scattered around the world with covers as varied as perfect strangers or this particular loving couple. With the shock of Hydra's betrayal and the crashing ending of the lives they'd known, they needed each other. This cover allowed them to comfort each other and required them to play a normal part in a community that had a lot of nice people in it.

"Yeah, I like it here," Clint confessed. He and his bow didn't stand out at all among the local archery enthusiasts and Natasha would be welcomed with open arms by the jazz dance club.

"I like almost everything, except my name," Natasha said.

"You don't like 'Bobbi'?"

"No, Bobbi's great. It's perky and cute, everything that Natasha Romanoff isn't. Great cover," Natasha said. "But I don't know what Coulson was thinking when he came up with the last name. I mean, 'Morse'? It just screams, 'look at me, I'm a code name!'" she grumbled playfully.

Clint chuckled and kissed his blonde-haired bride on the top of her head.

* * *

_A/N: After I wrote this, I heard that Bobbi Morse will be a character in AOS next season. Too bad. I like the idea that Bobbi is a cover identity for Nat._


	3. Disappointment

**Disappointment**

"Here, you can't go to sleep on me, Rogers," Sam Wilson said firmly. "I need some conversation to keep me awake."

"Polka isn't doing it for you?" Steve Rogers said dryly.

They were driving through the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night with at least an hour until they reached a safe place to stop and the only radio station they could hear over the static was apparently in the middle of a polka fest. Sam was tempted to stop and get his iPod out of the trunk, but this model car was too old for plug and play.

"Just talk!" Sam said in exasperation. "Or I'm liable to fall asleep and crash this car. I'm sure you don't want another trip to the hospital this soon."

"That would be true," Steve admitted. The Super Soldier was all healed up from the grievous wounds he'd received in battle with the Winter Soldier. Sam's lesser injuries were still at the itchy scab stage. Neither of them needed another doctor's visit. "What do you want to talk about?"

They'd talked music. They'd talked film. They were quick sick of politics and avoided any mention of it.

"Tell me something about yourself," Sam finally said, wondering if he was pushing their short (though intense) friendship.

"Like what?" Steve asked, quirking one brow in amusement. "My life's an open history book. America and World War II: Chapter 1, Pearl Harbor; Chapter 2, America enters the war in Europe; Chapter 3, scrawny Steve Rogers volunteers for the Super Soldier Project," Steve explains.

"It's really hard to think of you as scrawny," Sam admitted.

"I'll take you to the Smithsonian. You can see the pictures," Steve said. "I need to go back to apologize anyway."

Steve looked sad. Sam knew that look. The Smithsonian exhibit also had pictures of Bucky Barnes, the man who had been turned into the Winter Soldier, the man who had tried to kill but ultimately rescued Steve. The man they were trying to save.

Steve and Sam had followed a lead into the heartland of America only to find a Pierce-wannabe who was trying to unite scattered Hydra factions by falsely claiming to have the services of the Winter Soldier. The wannabe's organization had been neutralized, but Bucky had been nowhere in sight. Steve had been disappointed.

Change the subject, Wilson, Sam ordered himself.

"I know about your war times. Tell me about your happy times," Sam said. "When were you most happy?"

Steve thought for a moment, then snorted. "You'll think it's messed up," Steve predicted. "Apart from when I was too little to know better, my happiest times were probably the war times. I was healthy, doing an important job. I was respected by my men and there was a woman who I was maybe falling in love with. Now, I'm a stranger in a strange land and just when I start to feel like I'm finding my way, the ground falls out from under me. That's happened to me a lot," he confessed. "For most of my life I was … I was a disappointment."

Sam started in surprise, making the sedan swerve into the opposite lane before he jerked it back.

"Did your parents say that?" he demanded angrily.

"No! My mother was an angel!" Steve replied just as forcefully. "My father died before I was born and my mother took care of me until I was 18, when she died of tuberculosis. There were plenty of people who called me useless and a waste of space, but not mother, and not Bucky." Steve's voice trailed off. Before Sam could decide on something to say, Steve picked up again, "Mother called me her treasure, the joy of her life, and never complained about the extra work I made for her. But I knew. It was bad enough to be a widow, raising a child alone, but to have a sick child on top of it. Any extra money went to medicine for me or another warm blanket or hot soup on a winter day. She never kept anything for herself. Boys worked in my day, Sam. Newsboys, stock boys, delivery boys — they were actually boys. Having a son meant a little extra income for the family, but not my family. I was desperate to help, but if I worked too hard I'd bring on an asthma attack, which cost money instead of bringing it in. I did what I could, but it was little enough. So I was a disappointment to myself.

"Then came the war and Bucky signed up and they wouldn't take me. It was all I wanted — to be a soldier like my father and fight the Nazi bullies, to make a real contribution, to make my life mean something, but I disappointed myself again.

"Then Dr. Erskine saw something in me that only Mother and Bucky had ever seen. I was proud to be chosen for that experiment. But that didn't go the way I expected, either. I got the strong heart and the healthy lungs…"

"And the muscles," Sam put in.

"… and the muscles," Steve agreed. "But Dr. Erskine was killed and his formula was destroyed. I was the only Super Soldier that Col. Phillips was going to get, which was a sad disappointment to him. The senator was the only one who wanted me, and that was to be a dancing monkey. I disappointed myself again."

"But you got to the war and saved your best friend and …" Sam stopped when he realized how that story ended.

"And I stopped the Red Skull but sacrificed my life to do it."

"But you're not dead," Sam felt obliged to point out.

"No, but the life I expected died when I was frozen. Peggy moved on without me, the world moved on without me. Bucky's all I've got left, Sam."

"Not all," Sam said firmly.

Steve looked across at his friend. Sam's dark face was almost invisible in the darkness, just barely highlighted by the dashboard lights. Steve reached out and gripped the driver's shoulder.

"No, not all, pal," Steve said softly. "But he's all I've got left of the life I planned 80 years ago. Maybe I can't help him, but I gotta try. I can't give up on him, if I did …"

"You'd be disappointed in yourself."

"Yeah." Steve paused for a long moment, then added firmly, "And I'm tired of being a disappointment."

* * *

_A/N: I booked a trip for next year. To Budapest!_


	4. The Pilots

**The Pilots**

The newly hired Stark Industries pilot powered down the engines of the sleek private jet and double-checked all the instruments while the copilot opened the door and extended the steps. He jogged down the steps and turned to help the passengers deplane. The pilot stood by the exit, tucking his hat beneath his arm and combing back his blond hair. He greeted everyone respectfully, accepting his or her thanks for a smooth flight.

"Excellent landing. Didn't feel a bump at all," said a pudgy vice president, who passed a hundred dollar tip along with his handshake.

"Tipping isn't necessary, sir," the pilot said politely, but when the VP waved negligently, the pilot pocketed the money with thanks.

The VP thanked the copilot, too, handing over three twenties.

"Thank you, sir; that's very kind," the black man said, tipping his hat.

"You boys deserve it," the man insisted, holding out his elbow for his pretty and much younger wife. She gave a last, wistful look up the stairs at the blond, buff pilot, and then took her husband's arm with a smile.

A slender black woman nearly 60 gave an equally wistful look to the copilot, as he helped her down the steps. He flashed a bright smile at her and she laughed.

"If I were 30 years younger," she sighed.

"Then I'd be cradle robbing, young lady," the copilot said with a wink.

The woman vice president laughed again and started for the terminal.

Still smiling, the black man ran up the stairs three at a time to meet his boss just inside the door.

Tony Stark stood just behind his CEO Pepper Potts while she studied the two new employees, standing together, straight but relaxed. Even if Pepper hadn't read their resumes, she would have known that they were ex-military. They could take care of themselves and had the skills to be backup bodyguards if necessary, which was particularly important since the fall of SHIELD.

Pepper shook the pilot's hand. "Thank you Captain Fries," she said, pronouncing the name as "frees," the proper Germanic pronunciation.

"Ms. Potts," the pilot said with a tilt of his head.

"Mr. Brown," she greeted the copilot.

"Ma'am," the man acknowledged.

"Enjoy your layover in Berlin," Pepper said. "Let us know if you need anything."

"I'm sure we'll be fine, ma'am," Captain Fries said.

"You have the conference schedule," Pepper said. "We'll be here for two days and then go on to Austria then to St. Petersburg if necessary."

"Yes, ma'am, we'll be ready," Fries promised.

Tony had been playing with his Starkpad the whole time, ignoring the conversation. But when Pepper started down the steps, he came to life.

"Have fun, boys," he said jauntily, handing each of them a no-limit credit card. He waved away the pilot's objections. "I'll never hear the end of it if I don't tip better than Wesley," Tony said, nodding at the pudgy VP who was just entering the terminal. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do," he called over his shoulder as he clattered down the steps to catch up with Pepper.

"Is there anything he wouldn't do?" Brown asked Fries curiously.

"Not according to popular reports," Fries answered.

* * *

Tony took his spot at Pepper's side. The space was clear around them. No one could be eavesdropping — Jarvis made certain of that.

"Really, Tony, 'Freeze'?" Pepper asked, referring to the pilot's name.

He chuckled but defended himself, "It's a perfectly good fake name. No one would suspect Captain America of having such a German name."

Pepper shook her head. "At least you didn't give Sam a peculiar name."

Tony looked mildly guilty. Only Pepper, with her vast and unfortunate experience, would have noticed.

"What did you do?"

"I didn't," Tony protested. "I thought about it, but Cap put his foot down. On my foot. Which hurt. And it would have been good, too," he mourned. He told her and Pepper just rolled her eyes, while Tony chortled.

* * *

Steve Rogers, aka Michael Fries, and Sam Wilson, aka Leonard Brown, gathered their equipment and locked down the jet.

"What's the plan?" Sam asked.

"Today we enjoy Berlin. See the sights. Case the records office. Tonight we look for any old Nazi records about Hydra. Gotta love the Germans," Steve said. "They keep excellent records."

"Never thought I'd hear Captain America say, 'Gotta love the Germans.'"

Steve gave him a stern look. "I've got no problem with Germans, never had," he said. "It's bullies I don't like."

"Hydra bullies in particular."

"In particular," Steve agreed with determination.

"It was nice of Tony to give us this cover as his pilots so we could go searching through Europe," Sam said. "I admit, I was surprised when I found out you could fly a plane."

"I saw you close your eyes during the landing," Steve accused jokingly.

"It was entirely involuntary," Sam insisted. "For some reason, I associate you with spectacular crashes."

"Why do you think I learned how to fly?"

Sam shucked his uniform jacket and hat for something more casual. "All right, Captain Fries, let's get started." He chuckled. "Captain Freeze. I like Stark's sense of humor."

"Then I shouldn't have changed his original name for you," Steve said drily.

"Really?" Sam's ears perked up. He'd thought "Brown" was pretty pedestrian for Stark.

"Yeah, he wanted to give you a good German name, too — 'Burger,' then we would have been Burger and Fries." This time Steve pronounced the name to rhyme with "dies."

Sam laughed so hard he had to clutch his side. Like Pepper before him, Steve just rolled his eyes.


	5. I Can't Be An Avenger

_A/N: This takes place after Bucky Barnes is recovered and rehabilitated. In my head canon, he has only fragmented memories of his time as Winter Soldier — because of all the freezing and wiping — and actually remembers his earlier life better; but he knows enough about his time as Winter Soldier to feel immensely guilty, which is what this story is about. Spoilers for Captain America: The Winter Soldier and Agents of SHIELD season 1._

* * *

**I Can't Be an Avenger**

The Earth's mightiest heroes sat in conference around the kitchen table. To James Buchanan Barnes, the scene felt oddly formal, yet comfortingly familiar. It was more formal than lounging in overstuffed chairs in the living room, but kitchens were comforting rooms to the man from the 1940s. They reminded him of his mother and his best friend's mother, cooking for their boys.

Here though, in Avengers Tower, Bucky Barnes felt like he was being judged by Steve Rogers' friends. The room was shadowed in the corners, with the brightest light coming from a lamp directly overhead, though there were small sparks of color on the coffeemaker and microwave. It was a lot like an interrogation room in a 1930s gangster movie. Barnes didn't think that was an accident.

Barnes sat at one end of the rectangular table with Steve next to him just around the corner. Sam Wilson sat next to Steve, looking even more nervous than Barnes. At the far end, Bruce Banner gave them a reassuring smile that was offset by Thor, who loomed behind him, brawny arms crossed but expression neutral. Natasha Romanoff sat on Bucky's left with one hand on his metal arm in a supportive manner. It made Bucky nervous that she seemed to be on his side despite the fact that he'd shot her twice. To make up for her support, her partner Clint Barton scowled ferociously and unrepentantly at Barnes. It was all the more disconcerting because Barton had tilted his chair back, balancing easily on two legs. Tony Stark stood behind Romanoff, leaning a hip against the counter and turning a coffee cup around and around in his hands. His face was shadowed with bleak emotions, but maybe it wasn't Barnes he was mad at.

"Feet off the table, Barton," Stark said irritably. "Some of us eat here."

Clint immediately lifted his heels off the edge of the table — without losing his balance or his scowl. Tony huffed but didn't say anything further.

"Buck?" Steve nudged his oldest friend with his shoulder, looking for an answer to the question that had sucked the noise and the camaraderie out of the kitchen.

"I can't be an Avenger, Steve," Barnes said.

"Why not?" Steve asked patiently.

"Because I'm a monster."

A harsh, strangled laugh came from the mild-mannered scientist opposite him. "The position of monster has already been filled, Barnes," Bruce said bitterly. He fingered the tablet in front of him, then slid it across the table. It spun to a stop in front of Bucky and he saw a compilation of cellphone and security videos that showed an emerald green man-monster rampaging through an office building and leaping out the window onto a huge flying arthropod.

"That's you?" Barnes said in disbelief.

"Scary, right?" Tony said, his chin resting on his chest. "And yet little kids dress as the Hulk for Halloween and take their plushy green Hulk pillows to bed at night."

"I like the nightlight that looks like Hulk's fist slammed through their wall. How comforting can that be?" Clint asked rhetorically.

Tony shrugged. "The Hulk isn't so scary once you get to know him. I'm not so sure about the Winter Soldier."

There it was. Barnes was almost relieved to have someone agree with him.

"Right! The Winter Soldier is a murderer, Steve. You can't have a cold-blooded killer in the Avengers."

Steve didn't back down. He never had. "Everyone here who's killed a man, raise your hand," he said, putting his hand up immediately. Everyone else at the table complied, even Sam. He was military, after all, even if his primary assignment had been rescuing downed airmen. Tony and Clint raised their hands grumpily, but they did. A small feminine hand even poked in from outside the room.

Apologizing for intruding, Pepper Potts crossed quickly to the coffee maker, filled her mug then turned to leave. She caught Bucky's questioning look. "Yes, even me," she confirmed. "But he totally deserved it," she said fiercely. Sharing a nod with Tony, she left the room to the superheroes.

"But everyone I killed didn't deserve it," Bucky said plaintively. "I don't remember everything, just flashes. I know there were a lot more missions than are in that file." He nudged a brown folder labeled Winter Soldier that sat in front of Natasha. "You only know about the ones that were supposed to send a message, I think." He frowned, trying to drag memories out of the haze caused by the constant wiping and freezing. "Some were supposed to look like an accident. I remember sinking a boat, a yacht."

"Auto accidents?" Tony asked grimly.

Bucky knew he was referring to the death of his parents — the death of Howard Stark, whom Bucky Barnes had known so long ago. They all knew that Howard and his wife had been killed by Hydra, but whether they'd been killed by the Winter Soldier …

"I don't know," Barnes told Tony helplessly. "I really don't know."

"You've seen the equipment, Stark," Natasha said. "You've read the files. Can you really hold him to blame?"

"How can you defend him?" Clint burst out, slamming the front legs of his chair down with a bang that made everyone flinch. "He shot you, twice! He almost killed you! He almost killed Steve!"

Bucky flinched at that memory — shooting the man who claimed to be his friend, beating and beating that tauntingly familiar face. Bucky bent his face over his clenched fists and didn't try to defend himself.

"Clint," Natasha said calmly. "Do you know what it's like to have someone take your brain and play? To be unmade and remade?"

Clint's clenched fist trembled on the table. "You know I do," he said hoarsely.

"And so do I," Natasha said. "That's why I forgave you for trying to kill me on the helicarrier. That's why I forgive Barnes."

The partners held each other's gaze for a long, long moment. Clint's shoulders slumped in surrender. "Fine. Fine! Hell, it's not like we have a membership card and a secret handshake. If someone wants shoot at the guys who are shooting at me, well, another sniper could be useful," he said grumpily.

"Another ground fighter even more so." Thor spoke for the first time, his deep voice solemn. "Captain, you wish to give your brother a second chance. You know I sympathize with your endeavor. And I trust your judgment. I will fight beside the Winter Soldier."

"I also sympathize," Bruce said. "But I can't make any promises for the other guy. If he takes a dislike to the Winter Soldier, you'll be in trouble. But Hulk trusts the other Avengers, so he's liable to follow their lead."

Then everyone looked at Tony, who frowned back.

"Tony?" Steve coaxed.

"What about it, Stark?" Natasha asked matter-of-factly. "It was Hydra who killed your parents. If the Winter Soldier committed the crime, he was just the gun. Other people pulled the trigger."

Tony squeezed his eyes shut. He knew too much about betrayal, but he also knew about redemption. He was still trying to make amends for things he'd done with willful disregard for the harm they might do. Could he deny Barnes the chance to repay a debt he'd been forced to make?

"All right!" Tony said angrily, then more calmly, "All right. Like Barton said, if the Terminator is fighting against our enemies, then I can work with him."

Everyone nodded, except Bucky.

"How can you say that?" he exclaimed, flabbergasted with all of them. "I've killed innocent people. Bodyguards, wives and children, witnesses. I've been evil!"

"It wasn't you, Buck," Steve said with certainty. "You were tortured, brainwashed."

Tony blew a raspberry of dissatisfaction, and jumped feet first — for good or ill — firmly on Barnes' side at last. "Listen, Barnes, it's actually pretty simple. Now that you can think clearly, it bothers you that you killed. Therefore, it was not your idea to be an assassin. You are not evil. Your programmers were evil."

Bruce smiled. "It's simple logic."

"But how can I atone for so many deaths," Bucky said plaintively.

"Save a life for every one you took," Steve said simply. "Save two. Hell, save a thousand."

"A thousand," Bucky scoffed wistfully, as if he wished he could believe it was possible.

"Why not? Natasha did it," Steve said, with a sly look at his erstwhile SHIELD partner.

Natasha's head snapped in his direction so quickly everyone in the silent room heard her neck crack. Steve's eyes crinkled and the corner of his mouth turned up in that rare sweet smile.

"During the Battle of Manhattan, Natasha closed the portal to stop the invasion," Steve said. "She saved millions. I don't care how red your ledger was, you wiped it clean that day," Steve told her.

Natasha swallowed. "Wiped it clean only to drench it in red again when we released all SHIELD's secrets. Anyway, Stark stopped the invasion. I just closed the portal."

"Preventing us from being drenched in radiation from Stark's bomb," Clint said.

"So much for the 'merchant of death' label, Tony," Bruce said.

"You see, Buck. We all have regrets," Steve said.

"And raging guilt complexes," Tony muttered, getting nods from the other Avengers.

"The only way to expose Hydra was to release its information to the public, which meant releasing SHIELD's secrets, too. But that meant releasing the secrets of many innocent people, too," Steve said sadly. "I know a lot of good SHIELD agents had their covers blown because of my decision. It got a lot of good people killed."

"They were dead men walking," Tony said abruptly. "I've looked at Zola's algorithm. Every honest SHIELD agent would have been on the kill list, along with all of us. And 20 million men, women and even children who didn't fit the Hydra ideal. You did the right thing, Cap, no matter how much it hurts."

Bucky was still stuck on his own guilt. "But, so many …"

Natasha had recovered from her shock at Steve's absolution. "Well, two victims you don't have to feel bad about are Tony's parents," she said. She patted the file folder in front of her. "According to this, you were on ice when they died."

Tony glared at her. "You couldn't have said something sooner?"

"I'm not here to make your life easier, Stark. You didn't need a sugar pill to make the right decision about Barnes. Your parents died in '91," Natasha said. "In '91, the Soviet Union was falling apart. A few hardline KGB officers decided they didn't like the way things were going, so they formed their own rogue agency. They took a few souvenirs along, including the Winter Soldier …" her lips quirked in a wry smile. "… and me."

"Their living weapons," Clint said.

Natasha nodded, deep in thought. "You know, I think I may have seen your cryo chamber. I remember being led past a truck where crates and boxes were being loaded. There was a wave of cold and I caught an impression of a face in the darkness, but then we were hustled past and into a different truck. I thought … I thought it was a corpse, frozen to save for some experiment."

"You never put it together?" Tony said skeptically.

"I was seven, Stark," Natasha countered. "I never put the two things together until I read this report and saw so many familiar names. Anyway, according to this report, the Soldier was sold to a Hydra front in '93, when the former KGB officers needed cash more than a frozen assassin. The papers make it clear that, because of the unstable situation, Barnes spent all of 1990 to 1993 in cryo. He couldn't have killed your parents."

"Where did you get that file?" Tony demanded. "There's nothing in the files you released."

"These were paper files, Tony," Natasha said kindly, knowing how deeply this pained the industrialist."

"Where'd they come from?"

"Hill. I suspect she got them from Fury. Seems like he's got at least one team out there chasing Hydra leads. I haven't asked," the spy said.

Tony's expression was taut. "Does it say who did kill my parents?"

"No one you know," Natasha said. "Someone who's dead now. Look, Zola's files make Hydra's strategy clear — promotion through assassination. About 40 percent of all SHIELD agents turned to be Hydra, but nearly 80 percent of agents Level 8 and higher."

"So they killed the men and women above them," Thor said.

"They didn't even have to do the killing themselves," Natasha said.

"Like 'Strangers on a Train,'" Clint realized. "The Hydra agent who would benefit would have an alibi for the murder."

"They had a whole team — 40 percent of SHIELD — to do their killing for them," Tony said with cold understanding.

"And no one noticed?" Sam ventured to ask.

"It's a dangerous business," Clint said darkly. "Shit, Hydra could have just leaked information to a drug dealer or enemy operative and there's one dead SHIELD agent, no muss, no fuss."

"So it's really more likely that a Hydra agent inside SHIELD was assigned to kill my father." Tony nodded because it made sense.

"He sabotaged your father's car when Howard was at the San Diego base, then followed him. When Howard was driving on a particularly dangerous road, he set off a small explosive that blew a tire. Your parents never had a chance," Natasha said.

Tony clenched his teeth and pressed the back of his hand to his eyes, trying to control his tears. Thor moved to stand next to him, offering support by his presence.

"This man is dead you said?" Thor asked.

"His name was John Garrett," Natasha said. "It was his first assignment to prove his loyalty when he joined Hydra. There's a Post-It note on the file saying Garrett died a very messy death during the Hydra uprising. 'Blown into teeny, tiny bits,' the note actually says."

"Good," Bruce said.

"Garrett?" Clint exclaimed. "Damn."

"You knew him?" Sam said.

"Yeah, we met a few times. He was a good friend of Coulson's." Clint shook his head. "But so was Sitwell. Phil would be mortified he didn't see this coming."

Steve waited until everyone had absorbed this news. "So, there's no objection to Bucky joining the Avengers?"

"It's not a fraternity, Rogers," Tony said. "There's no Pledge Week or hazing. No membership dues. Fight with us when the time comes and you're in, Barnes."

One by one, the others agreed, but Bucky still hesitated.

"I'll give you a bad name," he said.

Steve regarded his friend steadily. "We can't take back the past, Buck. God knows I've had to learn that lesson. All we can do is go forward and do our best. We trust you. I trust you."

Bucky looked in his friend's eyes and saw his childhood friend looking back with that fearless persistence that had gotten him beaten up so many times.

Bucky should have remembered that Steve epitomized stubborn patience. He had refused to die of pneumonia when he was six, despite what two doctors predicted. He had refused to run away from bullies, no matter how many black eyes he got. He had insisted on applying to the army over and over, when he was obviously unfit. And he had gone behind enemy lines against orders and common sense on the slim chance that his friend Bucky Barnes was alive to be rescued.

Stubborn patience and a bullheaded refusal to give up had always been hallmarks of Steve Rogers' personality. Why had Bucky even tried to fight?

The former Winter Soldier smiled suddenly. "I'm not getting out of this, am I?"

Steve smiled serenely. "No."

"Even when you were a little guy, you always were the most stubborn SOB."

"It's part of my charm."

"Punk."

"Jerk."

"All right, I'm in," Bucky declared, seeming more relaxed and more sure of himself than he'd been since the conversation began. "I'm still ready to follow that scrawny guy from Brooklyn, even if he wears an oversized body now."

Steve put out his hand and Bucky shook it firmly, then Steve turned to the man on his other side. "Now, how about you Sam? Are you in?"

The former airman started when everyone's attention turned to him. "But I don't have any superpowers," he protested. "I can't be an Avenger."

Clint groaned and thumped his forehead on the table.

Tony muttered, "Maybe we need to hire a press agent."

* * *

_A/N: I had a stressful and depressing week, so I could really use some review love, if you liked the story._


	6. Better Living Through Chemistry

_A/N: This follows directly after the previous chapter._

* * *

**Better Living Through Chemistry**

The Avengers — including Bucky and Sam — adjourned to the living room and relaxed with wine or beer or vodka and bowls of chips and pretzels. Then the interrogation of the former Winter Soldier continued, in a more relaxed manner.

After listening to Steve and Bucky reminisce about carrying home buckets of beer for Mr. Barnes during Prohibition, Tony asked, "Why can you remember young Bucky, but not Winter Soldier?"

He really couldn't help it. Persistent curiosity was part of what made him a great inventor, but everyone saw Bucky tense at the idea of remembering his assassin days.

"I, too, was curious," Thor said as a distraction. "But I am not so ill-mannered as to ask."

"Oh God!" Tony moaned. "Now the alien is one-upping me."

"The alien has manners, Stark," Natasha pointed out.

"Learning manners was part of the duty of Odin's heir," Thor said with a lordly bow — and a wink.

The friendly banter relaxed Bucky, reminding him of comrades during the war. "I don't know why," he confessed, answering Tony's question. "I get flashbacks sometimes of things that the Winter Soldier did, or things that happened to him. Torture and punishment," he said in a low voice. "But I don't have many detailed memories until Steve 'woke me up' on the helicarrier."

"It's a matter of chemistry," Bruce said, looking up from his Starkpad, where he was comparing digital files with a thick sheaf of paper documents.

"Care to explain?" Clint asked.

"Do you want to hear about disulfide formation from dithiolates, enlargement of presynaptic areas and polymerization of monomeric receptor sites?" Bruce asked dryly.

"No!" declared everyone in unison, even Stark. Tony knew a lot of chemistry — hello, genius! But his emphasis was on inorganic chemistry. Organic chemistry was not his field and brain chemistry was icky. The idea that all our hopes, dreams and fears come down to the transformation of one chemical into another was frightening — though kinda cool, too.

Bruce paused for a long moment, trying to think of an analogy that his audience would understand, particularly Thor who wasn't stupid but had a different frame of reference from the humans.

"OK," Bruce began. "There's a difference between long-term memory and short-term memory. Think about walking through the woods. If you pass through, an experienced tracker can follow your path by your footprints and bent blades of grass. But soon the wind will blow your tracks away and the blades of grass will straighten up and no one will be able to tell you passed. That's short-term memory. You glance at your watch, you register how close it is to quitting time, but tomorrow you won't remember you looked at your watch.

"Now suppose you follow the same path through the jungle every day. You will trample a visible path that anyone can follow. That path will last for a long time. In the West, there are still tracks of the wagon trains of 150 years ago. Long-term memory is more deeply ingrained than short-term memory. Steve Rogers was part of Bucky Barnes' life for 30 years, from childhood through the war. He has a permanent niche in Bucky's memory. Hydra was unable to erase Steve without erasing everything that made Bucky useful."

"How's that?" Tony asked. All the Avengers were deeply interested for their own reasons. It was personal for Bucky and Steve, while Tony was fascinated by the science of it. Clint and Natasha had faced their own struggles with brainwashing. Sam knew so many veterans with memory problems caused by trauma, while Thor simply wanted to understand his friends better.

"So, there are also different kinds of long-term memory," Bruce continued to his rapt audience. Let's look at procedural memory and declarative memory. Procedural memory is, well, it's what your body knows. Motor skills. How to brush your teeth, drive a car, fire a rifle. You can do these things, but it's darn hard to describe what you're doing with words."

Clint nodded. He'd tried to teach people how to use a bow. He couldn't describe it; he had to show them.

"Declarative memory is something easier to explain, like knowing your address. You can't explain to someone how to drive a car, but you can give them directions to your house. Life events, like smuggling home illegal beer, also fall under declarative or explicit memory. There are a lot of subcategories like episodic memories and autobiographical memories, but what it comes down to is this: Hydra was unable to erase declarative memory without also erasing procedural memory," Bruce said.

Most of his audience frowned, but Tony had followed him. "So if they erased a … a … 'subject's' memories of his past, they ended up with a vegetable. Couldn't feed himself, couldn't brush his teeth, couldn't fire a rifle."

"Correct," Bruce said.

"They could erase short term memories with their freezing techniques and electric shock 'therapy'." Using the term "therapy" for "torture" made Bruce growl and his eyes glint green. He closed them and breathed slowly for a moment, before he resumed. "They prevented the Winter Soldier's memories from becoming permanent by disrupting the chemical transfer. What he does remember are times when he went longer between mind wipes or those most traumatic events that seared themselves into his memory. Which is why the nightmares are so bad when you do have them," Bruce said apologetically.

"But Hydra did harm our friend's memories of Steven," Thor argued. "For he did not know Steven when they met again."

"They repressed his memories," Bruce agreed. "Good, old-fashioned pain and torture," he said sourly. "The records show that even that didn't work on most of their subjects. Most people died before achieving the state the 'scientists' were looking for."

"But with Zola's version of the Super Soldier serum in him …," Steve said.

Bruce nodded. "Bucky didn't die so easily. What their torture did was cause a second personality to emerge. It happens with some people who undergo traumatic events, often child abuse. They develop a second personality."

"You're talking about multiple personality disorder," Clint said.

"They call it dissociative identity disorder these days," Bruce said. "But yes. His captors wanted someone obedient, skilled and deadly."

"Bucky was already skilled," Steve said.

"And deadly," Bucky admitted.

"So they brainwashed him until he became obedient," Natasha said.

"That's it," Bruce agreed. "They kept torturing him until he buried Bucky, buried all those memories that his captor didn't want."

"Until all that was left was his deadly skill," Thor said.

"And obedience," Tony said grimly.

"They made it too painful for Bucky to remember, but all they could manage was to put up a wall between the Winter Soldier and Bucky," Bruce said. "The memories were still there. When Steve poked a hole in the wall, all the old memories came back — eventually."

"With a lot of work," Sam said solemnly, squeezing his friend's shoulder. Bucky and Steve both nodded.

Clint nodded along. "So the old memories remain, but the Winter Soldier memories don't exist, because they wiped them regularly."

"Some of them exist," Bucky muttered, rubbing his eyes.

"They tried to wipe the details of missions, but they wanted him to remember his handlers," Bruce said.

"They took me out of cryo to do training, so I would know my team. So I would know new weapons and computers," Bucky said quietly. "And the handlers would spend time with me, so I would know who was in charge. Sometimes they ranted at me and punished me; sometimes they just talked."

"Pierce liked to talk," Steve said dryly.

Bucky and Natasha rolled their eyes simultaneously and laughed when they caught each other at it.

"He talked about my place in history. How important my work was for Hydra. How we were working to make people free."

"Politics," Tony sneered.

"Propaganda," Steve growled.

"Indoctrination," Bruce corrected.

"All of the above," Clint said.

"And no matter now, because they're all dead and we're still alive," Natasha said with satisfaction.

"High five!" Sam said and they all slapped hands in triumph.

* * *

_A/N: The chemical jargon is from the online abstract for "A Molecular Basis for Learning and Memory" by Edward M. Kosower. I have no clue what any of it means._

_One more part of this conversation coming next time._


	7. Timeline

_A/N: Sorry for the late post. Had a lot of unHalloweening to do. Sad news: I carved an Iron Man jack-o-lantern but had to do it the week before Halloween and it didn't last until the holiday, so I pulled out my Cap (artificial) pumpkin from last year. (It's my cover pic for this story.) I'll have to do IM again next year on an artificial pumpkin._

_This story continues the conversation from the last chapter. It's my attempt to straighten out the Winter Soldier timeline based on internal evidence in Cap2 with no reference to the comics except borrowing the name Karpov._

**Timeline**

Tony passed around another round of drinks, then flopped in the corner of the couch closest to Bruce.

"So, Zola used torture to repress Buckster's memories and turn him into the Winter Soldier."

"No, " said Bruce and Cap together.

Bruce deferred to Steve. "Zola experimented on Bucky and gave him a version of Schmidt's super soldier serum that allowed him to survive everything, but Zola didn't create the Winter Soldier. We captured Zola on the train that Bucky fell from," Steve said. "Col. Phillips had him in custody. I went into the ice not long after, but I know Phillips wouldn't have released Zola until after the war."

"Zola did the prep work for Winter Soldier. According to the Hydra records we've recovered, he experimented on Bucky to create another super soldier, using Schmidt's flawed formula," Bruce explained.

"A semi-super soldier," Clint offered, earning a friendly jostling from Bucky's metal hand.

"Years later, Zola saw to it that the Winter Soldier became the Fist of Hydra, but it was the Soviets who made the Winter Soldier. They attached the metal arm and they pioneered the memory wipe technique," Bruce said.

"The Russians were supposed to be on our side," Steve growled, fist bunching until his shoulders strained the seams of his T-shirt.

Bruce shuffled through his pile of papers. Natasha, who had read all the files, reached into the pile and pulled out a set that was yellowing on the edges.

"General Vasily Karpov was a rogue scientist, the Soviet counterpart of Johann Schmidt," Natasha said. "You could say he started out of patriotism during World War II, trying to counter the actions of Hydra, but that would be giving him too much credit," she said sourly. "He never thought the rules applied to him and he greatly enjoyed hurting other people."

"You sound like you knew him?" Sam said.

"My story another time," Natasha said firmly. "Though there is some overlap," she admitted.

"During the war, Karpov was conducting unsanctioned experiments on the local peasants, trying to create a super soldier to match Hydra's and America's," Bruce said, giving Steve a nod. "He wanted an unthinking, utterly obedient cyborg soldier, one who wouldn't hesitate because he had no memories of anything but obedience.

"Whole villages vanished because of his failed experiments — with the depredations conveniently blamed on the war. When he ran out of subjects, he experimented on his own troops."

"So they were happy to find a stray American soldier to offer Karpov," Natasha said.

"And in Bucky, he found the Mother Lode, someone who could survive his barbaric brainwashing experiments," Bruce said. "But the war came to an end before he had the perfect soldier he wanted, so he decided to freeze his asset until needed."

"So it went over the years," Natasha said. "Karpov carved out a little independent, science niche of his own when the KGB was formed. When he had time, he would take Bucky out of storage and experiment on him, use him to get rid of his enemies. That's how Hydra got wind of Bucky again. Like the U.S., the Soviets recruited Nazi scientists after the war. Hydra spread on both sides of the Iron Curtain and they kept in touch. Word got back to Zola in the U.S. and he sent helpful tips to his Soviet counterpart."

Bruce said, "Tips on controlling Barnes led to suggestions about targets for the Winter Soldier, so Bucky served Hydra even while he was controlled by the KGB."

"But in 1991, the Soviet Union began to collapse," Natasha said. "Karpov was getting old by then and unwilling to change his ways. He took some of his special projects, like the Winter Soldier and the Black Widows, and formed a splinter group of renegade KGB officers."

"You said you saw me," Bucky said.

She paused, then said quietly, "I think I saw you during the move. I was just a child," Natasha remembered. "We were being led to a bus and passed the open back of a truck. I felt cold coming out, so I peeked in and saw a face behind glass. I was frightened. I thought it was a body that Karpov had frozen for some experiment."

"Which it was," Tony said.

"Or a corpse risen from its freezing grave," Natasha admitted. At their skeptical looks, she shrugged, "What? I was seven. I ran to catch up with the others and never spoke about what I saw."

"And you never put it together with the Winter Soldier?" Clint asked.

"Not until I saw the familiar names in this report," Natasha said, tapping the papers. "Then I realized the Winter Soldier had belonged to Karpov, just like me."

"But the Winter Soldier never worked for Karpov's new group," Bruce said. "Karpov needed funds to finance his rogue operation and Hydra wanted the Winter Soldier under their full control, so Karpov sold Bucky to Hydra."

"To Pierce," Bucky said flatly.

"To Pierce," Bruce agreed.

"Not to Zola?" Clint asked.

"No, Zola was long dead by then — for a certain definition of dead," Bruce said dryly. "But his spirit in the computer algorithm kept guiding Hydra toward their ultimate goal.

"Zola was long dead in '91, Tony, but he still ordered your father's death. Howard wanted to consult some old records at Fort Lehigh and the Zola computer was afraid of discovery, so…"

"So that Garrett guy, one of the Hydra flunkies in SHIELD made it happen," Tony said tightly.

Bruce patted his arm in consolation. "You can be certain it wasn't Bucky who did it. Karpov and Pierce were still negotiating over his frozen body in '91."

"And, in case you wondered, it wasn't me, because I was seven and still in training," Natasha said.

"Wasn't me, either," Clint piped up brightly. "I hadn't run away from the orphanage yet. You can check the records."

Tony scrubbed his face. "It's a relief to know that none of my assassin friends murdered my parents," he said sarcastically, yet truthfully.


End file.
